


Glory

by setoboo



Series: Your Local Weather [2]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Calm down boys, Deleted Scenes, M/M, Pre-Slash, Shamal having a conniption over presents, The Author Regrets Everything, Tsuyoshi you sauve yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 18:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17833553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setoboo/pseuds/setoboo
Summary: Shamal is given a gift and doesn't know how he feels about it.-----------------------------After many reviews on Forecast I decided to publish the missing 'Shippy' scene between Shamal and Tsuyoshi. Enjoy~





	Glory

The next day finds him lost in thought.

He spent most of the school day spying on his brat. Both with his mosquitoes and in person behind a Mist-veil when he could get away from the nurses office for any length of time. He had been unusually busy with injuries all day it seemed. The demon-prefect on a vicious warpath that had ended with people floating through his infirmary constantly. So many in fact that the pompadoured Lightning that acted as the Hibari boy’s second-in-command even came to apologise for the extra workload in person.

The extra violence happening at Nami-chuu didn’t seem to affect Hayato’s mood in any way. His silver-haired hellion seemed in great spirits actually. Eagerly following the little Vongola around like a lovesick puppy and more relaxed than he’s seen in years. So that was...good. As much as this immanent shit show could be considered a good thing. It was still going to cause him endless headaches and sleepless nights, but at least Hayato looked happy for the moment.

Still, as much as the brat was enjoying his day, Shamal’s mosquitoes had finally reported in on Bianchi and the Vongola’s mother. And both reports had been disconcerting. Especially Sawada Nana’s.

He hadn’t expected the woman to recognize his drones at a glance in her backyard, nor willingly touch and talk to them.

The invitation to visit her was unexpected, and a little alarming considering what he learned from Tsuyoshi and the rest last night. He isn’t sure if he should take her up on the offer or not. He might be able to get some more information about what is going on here in Namimori other than what he learned at Izakaya Hinkaku. However, if he _does_ go to the Sawada residence he is likely to run into Reborn. And he currently wants to be around the Arcobaleno about as much as he wants to get food poisoning. Which is to say, not at all. 

Bianchi is another thing he is going to have to deal with eventually. He can’t just let the pink-haired she-devil hide away from the world because of her sadness at being kicked out of the Sawada household. It isn’t healthy for her, and the girl’s depressive state will worsen her already sketchy control of her Storm Flames. Shamal does not want to have to cover up any unexpected murders right now, he is already busy enough as is.

So - as he makes his way back to his little apartment in the late afternoon light - he is only broken out of his introspective thoughts by almost kicking a package innocently sitting at his doorstep.

Shamal rears back immediately. Jumping away from the box like it has a bomb inside it. Which for all he knows it very well _could_ have a bomb in it. Just because the town is accepting of his profession _(Former profession? Is he still an assassin if he doesn’t take hits? He mostly just bandages snot-nosed middle schoolers now. Oh god…)_ well, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still have enemies. Though _how_ those enemies could have found him in Namimori is a mystery. He took great pains to not be seen leaving Italy, and left an extensive trail of breadcrumbs behind that should have anyone trying to hunt him down going on a wild goose-chase for the next few years.

He looks down at the box on his doorstep with leery brown eyes. It is not overly large, but it is longer than it is wide. The box is covered in a deep blue wrapping paper without any discernible patterns, and the only other thing besides the box that he can see is a small slip of paper. Which is a cream color and laying on top of the long package.

Hesitantly, Shamal moves towards his front door again and quickly plucks the paper off the box. Thankfully the paper had only been secured with a single slip of tape so it comes loose easily. Allowing him to move back from the box again. Still unsure of what could possibly have been left on his doorstep.

The paper is thick, a cardstock of some sort, and the characters written on it are neat. Whoever took the time to pen this has nice handwriting he notes absently. His own handwriting is atrocious, which he contents himself with the fact it is completely acceptable for him to have bad handwriting. He is a doctor after all. It comes with the territory as far as he is concerned.

The note is only one line long and simply reads  _‘This is the best I could do on short notice. Enjoy!’_

Startled at the note, and the lack of a name or address attached to it - which implies whoever sent this had hand delivered it to his doorstep - Shamal takes another look at the long blue box on his stoop and debates if it was meant for him at all. It appears this is meant to be some sort of gift. So it would make more sense for the box to belong to one of his neighbours and someone had simply gotten the doors mixed up.

But, as he looks at the package again, he can’t help it as he shuffles back over and gingerly picks up the gift. Curiosity has always gotten him into trouble, but he has never really been able to help himself when something catches his attention. Even if the gift isn’t for him, he wants to know what could have been important enough to hand deliver to his doorstep.

The box is heavier than he expects it to be, and weighted oddly. One side much heavier than the other. So he keeps a steady hand on the blue box as he gets his keys out and unlocks his door. Moving swiftly inside his apartment and slamming the door behind him while toeing off his loafers in favour of his house shoes. The milky white slippers feel heavenly after being on his feet all day. But he is still intent on the gift in his hands.

He deposits the blue box on his small dining table and moves back to his attached living room to remove his white overcoat now that his arms are free. Hoping that in the three seconds he’s gone the package won’t suddenly explode and take out his kitchen.

He returns to the dining area quickly, absentmindedly rolling up the sleeves on his button up and wearily looking at the blue box again. Checking to see if anything has changed in the few moments he took his eyes off the thing.

The box is sitting exactly where he left it, unchanged.

Shamal huffs in annoyance with himself, but his ridiculous paranoia has saved his life more than once. He won’t skimp checking the thing out for danger just because he is exasperated with his own instincts. Rebuilding his kitchen from scratch would be a pain in the ass. And that's only if it _is_ a bomb, it could be something much worse if a member of the Mafia sent it. Flame Active Mafioso have an awful tendency to get creative when seeking revenge.

With that in mind, he releases his iron-handed grip on his Flames and lets his Mist suffuse the apartment. Bringing a few tendrils of pale indigo to bear on the box to check for unseen traps hidden inside.

Nothing in the box sets him off, and it seems free of danger as far as he can tell. However the little paper note does niggle on his senses, so he turns his attention back to the cardstock and it’s one line of text.

Nothing new is written on the back, and there is still only the one ambiguous sentence written on the front of the paper. But there _is_ a faint hint of someone else's Flames embedded into the ink of the message. Flames that feel heavy and cool. The quiet song of too deep water purposely sunk into each carefully written character.

Shamal groans in annoyance immediately, of fucking course. He should have known.

He lets the cardstock fall out of his fingers and back to the table, now not so much worried for his apartment as he is for his sanity. What in the everloving fuck could Tsuyoshi be doing now? He just saw the man yesterday for God’s sake! What the hell could the swordsman be playing at leaving something like this on his doorstep out of the blue?

Now more annoyed than anything else, he picks the awkwardly weighted box back up and rips the blue paper _(The Rain’s attempt at a joke? Or meant to be a hint about who sent it? Why couldn’t the asshole have just signed the stupid card?)_ off of it. Blinking in surprise at what he sees.

Underneath the paper is a heavy cardboard box colored a deep maroon. It appears to open from the top, but none of that is really what catches Shamal’s eye. Instead he shifts the box from its’ side to upright in his hands so that he has an easier time reading the shiny golden letters embellished on the front of the maroon box without going to get his glasses.

The words on the box are framed by decorative flowers made out of the same gold color as the rest of the font used. The gilded words reading _‘Riva Bolla di Corona , Classico - Bardolotti DOC’_ in loopy letters _,_ and below all that is a flourishing stamp that has the tiny words _‘Prodotto d'Italia’_ in it beside an even smaller image of the Italian flag. _  
_

_Wine._ Shamal makes a punched out little noise of surprise. Tsuyoshi sent him _wine._

With shaking hands he opens the box - half expecting it to be a huge joke and that the box will have some sort of horrible rice wine inside as punishment for last night - but his fingers make contact with the glass neck of the bottle and he slowly draws the wine out of it’s packaging. Letting out a breath of astonishment when the bottle inside actually matches what the box had promised.

The wine bottle is made up of dark almost black glass, and the label around the body is the same maroon color as the box it came in. More golden flowers frame the Bardolotti company’s logo. Which is a stylized crown and a single red rose blooming inside it. And below all that is the same words printed on the box in thin golden script repeated on the label. _‘Riva Bolla di Corona, Classico’._ However further down is another sentence. This time printed in simple white font near the bottom of the label. _‘Classici Veronesi de Rosso’_

How?

Shamal has to put the bottle down before he drops it.

 _Classici Veronesi de Rosso_ \- The Verona Classic Red.

He never once mentioned Bardolotti to the man, let alone Verona. Last night he vividly remembers saying wine was better than beer, and dropping the name Amarone. Mostly because he’s been craving the wine something fierce lately. But while Amarone and Bardolotti wines are both produced in the Veneto region, they are on opposite sides of the damned municipality. Different as night and day to a true connoisseur of wine. 

So did that mean Tsuyoshi somehow knew he was from Verona and was dropping hints about it to the Mist? Or was it coincidence? Did the mad bastard just grab any Italian made red wine and call it good? Surely the chances of him sending one of the most expensive brands of wine produced in his home region was slim, right? Plus, where in the seven hells did he even _get_ a bottle of Bardolotti here in Namimori?! Shamal has personally scoured every place in town that sells wine and he is so sick of rice wine and overblown French vintages it's not even funny.

He stares at the bottle of red wine sitting innocently on his dining table, and beside the dark glass is the little note it came with. The one that simply reads _‘This is the best I could do on short notice. Enjoy!’_  

The insane swordsman really had just grabbed any old red wine hadn’t he? Did he even know how stupidly expensive what he sent to Shamal was?

Shaking his head in disbelief, and to shake off the last of his nerves at the idea of someone knowing where he came from. _(He has long since buried everything from before he was introduced to the Mafia away, and that includes fair Verona.)_ He reaches out and gingerly picks up the heavy bottle of wine back off the table.

Instead of opening it like he half wants to. He moves further into his kitchen and towards one of the small cabinets in it that he has converted through a liberal use of Mist Flames into a wine rack. Gently placing the new addition to his small collection on the bottom shelf, within easy reach if he decides he wants to pull it out later.

With the Bardolotti now stored away. He plucks a stray hair tie off the counter and ties his hair out of his face. After which he moves to put on his cooking apron. Wondering just what he has in his refrigerator at the moment that he can make. He moves to dispose of the blue wrapping paper and the maroon box off his table while he debates with himself between eggplant and stuffed mushrooms. Putting the gift wrappings into his trash can without a backwards glance.

But somehow the little cream colored cardstock note ends up under a magnet on his fridge. The faint trace of Tsuyoshi’s Flames teasing at the edge of his senses as he moves to make dinner. Filling his kitchen with a quiet song that just barely brushes against his Mist Flames. A song that is deep, and dark, and almost comforting.

Maybe he should find a way to repay the man for the gift? It seems only fair.

He hums the beginning notes of _Vissi D’arte_ , and moves to pull the fixings for eggplant parmesan out of his refrigerator. 

The ghostly melody of Tsuyoshi’s Flames and his own poor attempt at singing Tosca are his companions in the quiet kitchen as the daylight fades outside.

And only to himself, he wonders if Tsuyoshi would like eggplant?

**Author's Note:**

> A **Glory** is an optical phenomenon, resembling an iconic saint's halo around the shadow of the observer's head, caused by sunlight or (more rarely) moonlight interacting with the tiny water droplets that compose mist or clouds. 
> 
> You can all thank yourselves for this, I was unaware that Shamal and Tsuyoshi would end up being so popular. So here you guys go. I went back and edited the cut shippy scene and made it a standalone. I hope you are proud of yourselves.
> 
> Btw; the wine is made up because I???know???Nothing???About???Wine???, Also my indulgent headcannon of Shamal being a pretentious art-hoe (emphasis on the hoe) from Verona is once more center stage. Humming opera, cooking with an apron on, quoting romantic era poetry at his kids. Fucking give this man a starbuck's coffee and ask him to tell you his thesis on Don Quixote.


End file.
